


At World's End

by Katlewis2000



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little more conversation please, BAMF Arya Stark, But I've incorporated a few things I think make it better, But people have reason to be cautious, Canon Divergence - Battle of Winterfell | Final Battle Against the White Walkers, Cause he needs them, Communication, Daenerys cautious, Do not read if you don't want to know everything, F/M, Families of Choice, Game of Thrones Alternate Season 08, Gendry Waters respects women, I don't hate her, I have not read the books, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Murder!Dad Clegane, Oblivious Jon Snow, Sansa has Jon's brain cells, Spoilers, Spoilers for all of Game of Thrones, Where exactly are Jon’s brain cells?, dadvos, especially Arya, seriously, with a capital E
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21708142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlewis2000/pseuds/Katlewis2000
Summary: Gendry Waters and Arya Stark have been through thick and thin together. You didn't really think he would propose to her like that, did you? Let's see what happens when he does it the /right/ way as one can only do in the depths of battle.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Bran Stark, Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Davos Seaworth & Gendry Waters, Davos Seaworth & Jon Snow, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Jon Snow & Arya Stark & Bran Stark & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow & Gendry Waters, Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen (mentioned), Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane & Gendry Waters, Theon Greyjoy & Arya Stark, Tormund Giantsbane & Jon Snow
Comments: 51
Kudos: 296





	1. The Battle of Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexTirZeng](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexTirZeng/gifts).



> This all came about because of my love for that one scene from Pirates of the Caribbean where Will asks Elizabeth to marry him. I mean, also my love for Gendrya and BAMF!Arya, but still. Thank you to AlexTirZeng for encouraging me to finish it (and NaNoWriMo and my attempt to write 1500 a day for it that helped me as well).  
> (Kudos to anyone who can find a reference to another favorite badass of mine!)

Winterfell was overrun. At some point, somehow, the Hound, Arya, and Gendry had fallen back to the Godswood, fighting with the Ironborn, Alys Karstark, and Theon to keep Bran safe… and the White Walkers still had yet to show themselves, let alone the Night King himself. Arya and Gendry fought back to back, memories from their time on the road (and their time in the storage room) flashing through their minds as one ducked so the other could strike a wight, twisting around the other to parry a blow. Gendry watched in awe as Arya danced alongside him, her ferocity shining in her eyes as she protected her brother and her home. The emotions choked his heart and the moment broke over him. 

“Arya!” He called, smashing another wight’s face in with his mace-like creation. She turned to him, swiping a wight behind her without looking at it, her eyes narrowed. “Will you marry me?” Her eyes widened almost comically and Gendry heard the Hound breathlessly let out a raspy laugh. 

“WHAT?” He heard Theon yelp, even as he tossed another wight from in front of him with his spear, while Alys Karstark skipped a beat, crying out as she only just stopped a wight that had come up behind her. 

“I don’t think now’s the best time.” Arya said, grunting as she twirled again, using her double-bladed staff to cut through three wights at once. She smirked as she heard Theon curse and grumble behind her. 

“That’s your only objection?” She heard him ask, utterly bewildered. It was fair, she supposed, as she cut off another wight’s head, not deigning to respond to Theon’s query. She had never wanted to marry growing up and only Sandor and, she supposed, Bran knew of her history with Gendry among those here. Gendry grabbed her arm and switched their places, smashing a wight on her side with a well-aimed blow. 

“Now may be the only time.” He said, gazing into her eyes for a moment before ducking as she decapitated an advancing wight behind him and swinging again to catch a wight in the side. “You told me about your Old Gods ceremonies all those years ago. We could do it.” He continued as he turned and slammed his mace into a wight behind him, completing the turn to return to her. “All I know is that you’re beautiful and I love you.” He said, grabbing her hand as, together, they twirled on the spot, a hurricane of force. The moment of peace the aftermath provided allowed him to pull her in and stare into her eyes. “Nothing will be worth anything if you’re not with me. So be with me. Be my family and my wife.” Her eyes were wide with shock as she stared into his earnest expression. He cupped her cheek in his hand, ignoring the blood and grime on her face, and smiled, before twisting away again to kill yet another wight that had caught up to them. She stood there for a moment, not processing, as he swung low and smashed a wight’s legs, taking it down before smashing in its head for good measure. “I’ve made my choice.” He told her earnestly. “What’s yours?” She felt emotion enfold her heart and the instinctual desire to strangle and hide it. She closed her eyes, still fighting the wights, before pursing her lips as she speared another through the gut. She twirled to face the Hound, batting away another wight.

“Sandor!” She cried, earning only a grunt in response. “Marry us!” Gendry gave her a look at the strangeness of her choice, but ducked as a wight tried to grab his head, crushing in its rib cage instead. 

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” Sandor said, decapitating the wight sneaking up on a dumbfounded Theon with a swing of his axe. 

“Hound, now!” Gendry said, smashing in another wight’s face and turning to check that Bran Stark, who seemed to have returned to the moment, was still safe and whole. 

“Fine then.” The Hound grunted, catching a wight in the side and cutting it all the way through with little effort. “Your Northern ceremonies start with who comes before the Old Gods this night, aye? You fucking cunts!” Bran nodded to him as the Hound forced five wights away at once, interrupting his own question with his curse, to which the Hound snarled, before decapitating another wight. 

“Arya, of House Stark,” Arya replied, slicing two wights in half with one movement, “comes here to wed. A woman grown and a warrior true.” She said, before pausing to cover Alys as three wights bore down. “She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim me?” Gendry looked at her, wide-eyed.

“Claim you? I’m not _claiming_ you!” He cried, hitting a wight with the butt of his weapon to push it away, before smashing its face in. 

“Gendry!” Arya snapped.

“Then say whatever, you moron,” Theon said brusquely at the same moment as Arya’s scolding, finally believing that this was actually happening. Gendry gulped, but nodded to Theon, joining Arya to crush a wight between them. 

“Gendry Waters, a bastard blacksmith and a fighter, comes to join with her. In all her battles,” he added, swooping under a strike by Theon to help him tackle three wights, “and in her peace.” Theon raised an eyebrow at him, but nodded. 

“Now you have to ask who gives her, moron.” He said, spearing a wight right over Gendry’s head, causing his eyes to grow wide. 

“Uh, who brings her to wed?” Gendry ad-libbed again, the phrase ‘give’ sounding wrong to his ears when applied to Arya. Theon gave him a toothy grin and went to stab another wight as Gendry joined Alys Karstark on the other side of the tree. Arya snarled to the wights as she decapitated another four, one after the other, inwardly beaming at Gendry’s word choice. 

“Brandon of House Stark, the Three-Eyed Raven, who is her brother.” Bran said, watching the group fight the wights, his hands clasped around a dragonglass dagger Arya had thrust into his hands earlier when she came sprinting with Gendry into the clearing, the wights on her tail. “Now you two.” He said to the two other men, his eyes narrowed. Theon’s eyes widened dramatically, his breath hitching as he stared at the red leaves of the weirwood, only snapping out of it as Arya came to rescue him from a wight, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder for a moment before rolling over his back to stab another. 

“Theon, of House Greyjoy -” He was interrupted by Arya as she spun her staff. 

“And House Stark.” She added. His eyes widened at her words. She shrugged.“Sansa accepts you as the Kraken Wolf.” He nodded, even as she had to help him fight another wight in his distraction. 

“And House Stark,” he breathlessly amended, before continuing, his voice shaky. Arya stayed by his side to fight off the wights as his hands began to shake more with memories. “Who was her father’s ward -”

“And her brother.” Bran interjected smoothly. Both Theon and Arya tripped in their momentum at the words and a snarling Hound had to come and pull them away as Gendry and Alys killed the two advancing wights. 

“And… and is her brother,” Theon added quietly, returning to the fray and saving Gendry from a wight behind him. Sandor grunted and stepped in front of Alys’ dagger to decapitate the wight in front of her. 

“Sandor, of the House Clegane, who was her protector. That good enough for you, you creepy fucker?” He asked Bran, who simply watched him fighting. Bran raised an eyebrow and nodded, and the Hound bared his teeth at him before continuing. “Arya Stark, ‘cause you’re sure as the hells not a Lady - ” Arya, Theon, and Gendry all barked a laugh at that, each focusing on their own corner now as the tried to push back the advancing mayhem. “Do you take, er fuck, consent to _join_ with this man?” Arya raised an eyebrow at Gendry over her shoulder, grinning broadly with bared teeth. 

“Suppose I do.” She admitted, ducking under one of the Hound’s blows to join Gendry on the other side of Bran. 

“Fuck, there’s no fabric. Just hold hands and say - ” The Hound started, cut off as two wights jumped on him, Alys’ dagger in the back stopping one from tearing at him, while Arya’s quick decapitation stopped the other. “Say - ” The Hound tried again, only to growl in annoyance as he needed to run to help Theon. “Just say the fucking words already!” Gendry smiled at Arya as he clumsily heaved his mace one-handed to crush a wight’s head half-hazardly, his other hand now firmly in her own. 

“I am hers and she is mine.” He said, smiling. She beamed back as she jumped upwards, bringing her staff down to stab a wight in the spinal cord that had been crawling towards (and under) her.

“I am his and he is mine.” She responded. He joined with her for the last words, “from this day, until the end of my days.” They twirled together, their hands still joined, to kill the wights attempting to sneak up on the other. 

“You’re supposed to kneel and pray, but I don’t think that’s happening.” Alys chimed in, overwhelmed by the strangeness of the situation and the wights that the Hound was helping fight off. 

“I pray,” Arya said, twirling her weapon and ducking under their joined hands to spear a wight trying for their hands, “to the Old Gods and the God of Death,” Gendry jumped as she slashed under his feet and pulled up to cut a wight in half vertically, “that we survive the night.” Gendry laughed, smashing another wight in with less force than usual and twirling Arya into place to cut it in half to be sure. 

“And I pray,” Gendry added, “to whatever fucking Gods are listening,” Theon snorted at the words, while Bran smiled serenely, “that there’s food and a warm place to rest after this is all done and over.” Sandor let out a raspy laugh at the words. 

“I suppose that works.” Alys said, chuckling under her breath as she backed up towards the tree, yelping as she ducked to avoid a particularly tenacious wight. 

“Neither of you have cloaks to exchange and bring the bride under your protection.” Theon pointed out, rushing to help her. Gendry and Arya shared a look, even as the Hound cursed as a wight hit his hand, forcing him to drop his axe. 

“Hound!” Gendry said, tossing his mace to him one-handed and ducking as Arya gutted two wights on the other side of him. Arya bared her teeth in a large grin and spun around him, hitting another, before passing him her staff and pulling out a dragonglass dagger. 

“We’ve weapons!” She called to Theon, before turning to Gendry. “Seeing as you had none, suppose that means I bring you under my protection, bull.” Gendry laughed at the old insult, clumsily using the bladed staff half-hazardly to cut into a wight and stop it in its tracks. 

“The safer place to be, m’lady.” She elbowed him, as she ducked, hands still joined, annoyed at the old insult, but knowing that now was not the time. “With you’re guarding me with your sword.” Arya barked out a laugh at the reminder of their time on the run. 

“That means your hair’s bound with grass.” She teased, stabbing her dagger upwards through a wight’s skull and leaving it behind, grabbing yet another from her belt.

“That’s all there is, right?” The Hound called out to Bran, using the mace to the best of his ability. 

“I suppose you kiss and break hands, in this scenario.” Bran said calmly. Arya pulled Gendry in for a long kiss, stabbing a wight that came up behind him and allowing Theon to cover them for a moment with his spear. She pulled back from him and smiled, before somersaulting through the air to grab Sandor’s axe and hand it to him, grabbing Gendry’s mace as she went and tossing it to him as he tossed her the staff he had made her. 

“I love your present by the way.” She said to him - her husband! - with a smile as she fought by his side. “It slices and dices quite nicely.” 

“Just because you cunts are married now doesn’t make this a good time for a flirt.” The Hound barked out. Together, the five of them and the remaining Ironborn fought back the horde and the Godswood became almost empty, bar one or two wights. Bran left them as they fought, his eyes rolling back, coming back to them as the wights thinned. 

“Arya, Gendry, Hound.” He said. “Run. You’re needed within the walls. Alys, the Ironborn, and Theon can protect me for now. ” Arya nodded to her brother as she grabbed Gendry’s arm. The Hound followed, growling at Bran’s words. He stopped short within the walls as the world exploded are him, fire seemingly surrounding him, causing him to back up towards a clear corner. Arya left Gendry with Tormund, racing past them towards the battlements full of fighting men and wights. 

The horrors of the night had barely begun.


	2. After the Battle - the Eye of the Storm

Arya closed her eyes, on one knee near her brother, the snow falling slowly around her, breath heaving. _In, out, in, out._ She reminded herself. _Breathe_. The crisp air around her smelled faintly of fire, smoke, and death, and she allowed the smell to ground her, washing away the drumming in her ears. After what felt like ages, she opened her eyes, her heart tamed for the moment. She stood, her body aching and turned to her brother. Bran smiled slightly at her and nodded. 

“Well done.” He said. She reached down and picked up the Valyrian dagger from its place amidst the crumpled ice that remained of the Night King, twirling it in her fingers and sheathing it, before she spoke.

“You knew. Didn’t you?” Bran tilted his head. 

“You had the skills needed and the drive to do it.” He admitted tonelessly, before shrugging. “I never knew for sure.” She nodded slowly, breathing out through her mouth in one long breath. She bit her lower lip in thought, worrying it, before speaking. 

“Bran.” He raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t tell them.” He shook his head. 

“They’ll need to know. Or they’ll never stop asking, never stop second guessing the victory. Never stop wondering if He’ll return,” She sighed, resting her forehead against the weirwood. 

“Let me see Gendry first.” She begged. “We need to speak.” Bran pursed his lips, but nodded, acquiescing. She smiled at him, leaning over to kiss his forehead and push back his fringe. “Thank you, little brother.” 

“BRAN!” She heard Jon scream in the distance. She tugged her collar up and her sleeve down to cover the ice burns left when the Night King had grabbed her. She needed it to remain a secret for a little while longer. “THEON! BRAN!” She turned to watch Jon stumble through the entrance to the Godswood, pausing to look in horror at Theon’s body, speared through with the Night King’s lance. His hands shook as he looked up to the Heart Tree and he looked like he was going to collapse when he saw Bran. “Bran!” He hurriedly picked his way through the dead, falling on his knees before Bran and bringing him into a hug. Bran smiled slightly over Jon’s shoulder to where Arya had silently moved. “Thank the Gods.” 

“They heard our prayers.” Bran agreed calmly, waiting for Jon to step away from him. 

“Jon.” Arya said from behind him, causing him to whirl around and grab her in a desperate hug. 

“Arya.” He said. “How’d you get here so fast?” Arya burrowed into the warmth of his hug for a moment longer. “Did you see who did it?” Jon asked, pulling away from her. “Was it Theon? Or one of the other Ironborn? No one else is here.” Arya breathed in through her nose and effortlessly breathed out the half-lie she needed. 

“I was nearby. When they fell, I went to check on Bran. He’s fine - no injuries that I can see.” She admitted. Nothing she had said was a lie, per say, but she had skirted around the full truth. “But, no, I didn’t see who it was.” Another truth. She did not see it - both because she herself had done it and because her eyes had been closed in focus at the time. Since her experience in Bravos, she found that she almost worked best in the dark, when she had to lean on the senses she had honed through pain and hard work and not those that were inborn. She ignored the ache in her heart that came at the thought that Jon had never considered that it could have been her. She supposed she was still his naive, eleven year old baby sister in his eyes, unable to properly wield a sword, let alone kill anyone or anything.

“Bran?” Jon asked, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Bran’s lips thinned and he glanced at Arya out of the corner of his eye. She shook his head minutely at him, her mouth set. She needed to speak to Gendry. She needed to see her husband. 

“I’ll tell you later. But the Night King is dead and dawn has come.” He finally said to Jon. “Can you clear the bodies so that we can return to the central courtyard? We need to help Sansa get out of the crypts.”

“Get out of the crypts?” Jon asked, already heading to the entrance to gingerly move Theon’s body out of the way to a place of honor, before moving the other bodies with less reverence. A pang went through Arya’s heart at Theon’s unseeing eyes and blank face as she pushed Bran’s chair forward. She may have been angry at him, but Bran was right - Theon was her brother, the Kraken Wolf of Winterfell and Pyke, no matter what. He had witnessed her wedding, had helped bring her and Gendry together. She would be forever grateful and forever saddened that she would never be able to tell him the story of how she and Gendry had met, especially given how confused he had been during the ceremony. 

“All the dead came back.” was the only response that Bran gave to Jon’s question, but it was enough to cause both Jon and Arya to rush their movements. Bran would have told them if Sansa had been killed, but she could be hurt or scared and was likely surrounded by the dead bodies of their relatives and she _needed_ them. They moved efficiently, Jon clearing the path ahead of them, treating each corpse with respect, although one or two were treated with extra reverence, and Arya pushing Bran forward at the same speed. After what felt like hours, they reached the main courtyard and were soon swarmed by people. Arya pushed her way through, leaving Jon (and Bran) to speak to Tormund, Daenerys, Jaime, and Brienne, rushing to open the doors to the crypts. As soon as she did, a wave of people erupted from them, running out into the fresh air. 

“Sansa!” She called, barely making out her tall sister’s red hair in the sea of people. She stepped back into the courtyard, out of the barrage, and waited for Sansa to come forward, Tyrion, the Queen’s aide, and Varys trailing her. She scooped up Arya in a hug and closed her eyes in happiness, Arya doing the same. Arya stiffened for a moment as strong arms surrounded them both, but relaxed as she identified Jon’s stubble against her cheek and his scent in the crisp air around them. 

“You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive.” He repeated, hugging them both with eyes shut tightly. 

“We are.” Sansa said, before a harsh laugh erupted from her. “We were so stupid - we didn’t consider the dead in the crypts.” 

“It’s over now.” Arya said, patting Sansa’s back and stepping away from the two of them. “We’re safe. Winterfell’s safe.” Sansa gazed between the two, a smile on her face. 

“I assume someone killed the Night King.” She said, looking at Jon. “Was it you?” Jon shook his head, his lips tight.

“We don’t know who did it. Only Arya and Bran were nearby, but Arya didn’t see who did it and Bran won’t tell us yet.” Jon said, sighing and running a hand over his face. Sansa frowned, lips tightening, as she turned to Arya. Arya stiffened. Sansa, unlike Jon, had seen her - truly seen her - since she had come back. Sansa had seen her faces, seen her kill. Sansa knew that it could have been her, knew that the wording was vague, knew -

“Lady Sansa!” Someone called off to the right. “Lord Jon!” The two turned to the individual and Arya took the opportunity to slip away. She had seen, just for a moment, a familiar mace-carrying man when she had entered the courtyard, a broken staff in his other hand. She hadn’t been able to focus on him then, but she had seen him glance at her, before walking off towards the forge’s storage room. She followed him now, silently padding over the fresh-fallen snow, not allowing anyone to notice her as she left. She needed to speak to him. They needed to talk. About the past, the present, the future. They needed - 

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Gendry asked the moment she entered the room, sweeping her up in his arms before she even answered. She smiled into his neck and tightened her grip around him. He knew her. Even without knowing everything, without knowing about her faces, he knew her. Knew that she was the one to kill the Night King, because she wouldn’t let her family face the pain. 

“Yes.” She admitted. He spun her around once, a broad smile on his face, causing a similar one to grow on hers. He set her down and rested his head against hers. 

“Then why aren’t you out there? You’re the hero of the day.” She laughed under her breath.

“For one, I wanted to see my husband.” She said, reaching up to kiss him gently, his hands tightening on her waist. “For another, no one besides Bran knows and I got him to swear that we could speak before he would tell.” He smiled in reply, crinkles forming by his eyes as he reached down to kiss her softly.

“Well, I am very grateful to your brother for the moment alone.” He whispers to her, before leaning in again and putting more into the next kiss. Arya closed her eyes in peace, before forcing herself away from him. She smirked when she heard him almost whimper, but she reached down and grabbed one of his hands, leading him over to a bench. 

“I asked him to stall for a reason more than a kiss.” She said, an eyebrow raised. She turned towards him as she sat, while he followed her lead, so their knees touched as they held hands. She paused, considering how to explain, before licking her lips. “Look at me, Gendry.” She said, waiting until he looked into her eyes before she continued. “I am so happy to be with you. So happy that we had our strange Northern wedding in the middle of a battle, perfect for us.” He smiled at her, but she saw the worry in his eyes. She reached out with one hand and ran it along his cheek and jaw, caressing his face, hoping that her love showed through her training and her hardships. “But there are things you should know. About what happened after we parted. About me. And if afterwards you don’t want us together, no one ever need know and we can ask Bran how to annul a Northern marriage - I only went to a few when I was young.” He opened his mouth to argue, to say he would never, but she let her finger cover his lips. “Please.” He frowned sullenly, but nodded to her. She let out a slow, long breath, releasing her worry and pulling herself together. 

“After you were sold to the Red Woman,” she began, “I ran. I couldn’t stay with the people who you trusted, who you wanted to join, but were willing to stab you in the back and sell you to your death. They probably would have found me, but the Hound did first. I thought he was going to take me to the Lannisters, but instead he brought me to the Twins, hoping to ransom me to my family.” She closed her eyes, trying to hide from the images she remembered. She felt his hand tighten around hers. “I saw them come out of the hall where they had killed my mother, Robb, his wife, and his wolf, Grey Wind. I saw them begin slaughtering the Tully and Stark forces. I wanted to help, but the Hound knocked me out. I only woke up to see what they had done to my brother and Grey Wind.” She pushed back the tears before they could fall, focusing on the moment rather than the long-held hurts. “They had cut off my brother’s head and sewn Grey Wind's on. They paraded him around on a horse and they cried ‘The King in the North! The King in the North!’ I heard they dumped my mother in the river. I still have no idea what happened to my brother’s wife’s body.”

“I thought you died there, Arry.” He said quietly. “When I went to the pub after escaping from Stannis, I heard them proclaiming it the Red Wedding. I thought you were dead. It’s part of why I went with your brother beyond the wall. It’s part of why I never told him I knew you.” She scooted towards him, snuggling into him and allowing him to encase her in his embrace, to feel her heart beating. She would deal with that last bit later, she decided, ignoring it for now, knowing the pain of talking about a friend that was thought to be gone. 

“I lived because of the Hound.” She said. “We traveled for about half a year through the Riverlands. He was trying to get me to the Vale, to ransom me to my Aunt Lysa. We arrived only a few days after she died. Less than a week later, Brienne showed up in Lannister armor claiming to want to protect me. They fought, he lost, I left him to die and robbed him, leaving before Brienne could get to me. I didn’t trust her.”

“Where’d you go?” He asked, his head resting on her head so his jaw ruffled her hair as he spoke. She pulled away from him, separating again, and pulling up the mask of the Faceless Man. 

“Braavos. To the House of Black and White.” She waited for him to realize, but he just frowned. 

“I don’t know what that is. I doubt even highborns in Westeros know.” The knowledge lightened her heart a little, but she refused to let it buoy her. 

“They train the Faceless Men there. Assassins who can change their face. Like J’aqen H’ghar.” She admitted. He looked shocked, but he squeezed her hand, gesturing for her to continue. 

“They turned me away at first, so I begged on the streets for weeks until J’aqen, in the guise of someone else, came and got me. Then, I became an acolyte, serving the God of Death and the House by cleaning the floors, then cleaning bodies, and eventually by giving the Gift of Death to those who needed it or whose name was given. I lied - to myself and them - and was beaten for not lying or not lying well enough. All I wanted was to be one of them, was to be a Faceless Man, because it seemed to be all I had left.” Gendry pulled her close to his side, tucking her into his body, as if his body heat would chase away the feeling of loneliness and hopelessness and all encompassing revenge that had ruled her life then. “Of course, I thought that I wanted to pursue it to get revenge. I refused to realize that I had no one left, thinking only of the past and never of the future. I slowly let them beat away Arya Stark, slowly became No One, just as they wanted me to. I killed for them and then, when they gave me the name of a man to kill, I saw Meryn Trant.”

“He was on your list.” Gendy said quietly, not wanting her to stop talking, but needing to understand. She nodded.

“He killed my first Water Dancing teacher, Syrio Forel, when he came for me in King’s Landing. He worked for the Lannisters, then, but became a Gold Cloak shortly thereafter. When I found him in Braavos, he was guarding Lord Tyrell, who was negotiating with the Iron Bank. Anyway, I stole one of the faces from the hall -“

“What?” Gendry asked, honestly confused. Arya tensed. She had skipped that part on purpose, but if he felt he needed to know…

“I said I cleaned the bodies. I never said what they did with them. I didn’t learn until a few months after I started cleaning them, all the while playing the game of faces, a game of lies and truth. They skinned the faces and using some arcane magic learned in the mines of Valyria eons ago, created masks from them, allowing the wearer to become the person whose face it was, if they knew the right way to do it.” She hurried on, not looking at Gendry, not wanting to see his face. “I didn’t know the right way. I used one of the faces from the hall - one of a little girl I had killed because she was suffering from an illness - and went to the brothel where Trant was staying, demanding a younger and younger girl to torment and abuse. He chose me, simply because I refused to flinch as he whipped me. And, once we were alone, I revealed myself, stabbed out his eyes, cut out his tongue, and told him who I was before I killed him.” She nodded to herself, still proud of the victory, no matter how bloody it had been. 

“Then, I went back to the House and returned the face. But I didn’t know the right way to wear it and the God of Death punishes those who do not listen. So, they blinded me. I worked for a year in the streets, begging for food and money. About halfway through, the Waif, a girl in the House, started coming and beating me, giving me a stick and telling me to stop her from hitting me, but I couldn’t. Finally, they let me back in the House, still blind, teaching me to fight with a staff the same way. I had to stop her from hitting me and hit her back, but I was blind - how could I? Half a year later, I figured it out and they let me return to the work of the God of Death, tasking me with killing an actress without giving me a reason. Of course, I learned that the person who paid for her to die was a much worse actress who wanted her roles, so I refused to do it and then warned her about the other actress. I was going to leave. I retrieved Needle and I was ready to leave Braavos and return home, return to Arya Stark. But the Waif came and attacked me.” Arya let her hand wander to her stomach, where the scars from the attack still shone pink. “I only got away by luck - she attacked me on a bridge and I jumped into the water. Bleeding, I returned to the actress I had saved and she saved my life, sewing me up and letting me recuperate at her house. The Waif found out and killed her, just as I was supposed to. I tore off through the streets of Braavos with the Waif chasing me, until I came to the cave where I had hidden needle temporarily. When she got there, I turned out the sole candle, trusting that she, unlike myself, had not had to learn to fight without light.” Arya shrugged. “I was right.” Gendry opened his mouth to speak, but Arya needed to say the rest, needed to tell the truth. 

“I returned to Westeros and immediately took the guise of an exotic servant girl in the Twins. After integrating myself, I killed Black Walder and Lame Luthor, who had killed my mother and brother, carved them up, and baked them into a pie, which I served to Walder Frey. When he asked after them, I told him, in my guise, that they were there, and showed him what he had been eating. Then, I took off my guise and let him know who was killing him and took his face, making it into a mask as I had learned from the House of Black and White. I called together all of his male descendants for a feast and ensured they would all be there. Then I poisoned the wine and ensured no male would drink it and watched beneath Walder Frey’s face as they choked to death on their drink, unknowing of why their patriarch would kill them. I told Walder Frey’s wife what to say, when I peeled back his face to reveal my own, told her to tell them that Winter came for House Frey.” She paused, licking her lips. She was almost to the end now - she needed to finish. “I was headed South to kill Cersei and the Mountain - the two last members of my original list - when I returned to the Inn at the Crossroads and saw Hot Pie.” She felt him perk up beside her and squeezed his hand, letting him know it was only a little longer now. “He told me Jon was alive, King in the North at that. And so I turned around and started coming home.” She licked her lips, thinking of how to phrase the rest. 

“I met Nymeria on my way home.” She said, hoping he would remember her tales of a wild grey dire wolf she had been forced to turn away. “She runs a wolf pack in the river lands now. She couldn’t come back with me. That’s not her.” She paused and let out a hollow laugh. “Then again, I thought this wasn’t me either.” She said, squeezing his hand again to let him know that she was still there. “When I returned home, Littlefinger was here, trying to keep Sansa and I at odds, trying to have Sansa kill me so that he could be her only confidant. But we figured out his plot and killed him instead, tricking him so we would still have the loyalty of the Vale even with his death. And then John returned home, you with him. I believe you know what happened then.” She stopped, finally done, finally having let free all of the things that had happened since they had last seen each other. He remained quiet for a while by her side, and she let him, scared of speaking for fear that it would break him out of his trance and convince him to leave. Theirs was a tenuous marriage at this point and she needed him there. He pulled her by one hand, finally, making her face him, and engulfed her in a hug. 

“My Arya.” He said. And that was all he needed to say. She couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes inadvertently at his words, simply tugging him closer to her. Her Gendry. They sat there in silence for a few minutes, the forge crackling behind them, before she pulled away, wiping at her eyes. 

“So how shall we move forward with this?” She asked him. He frowned at her.

“You’re my wife, my Arya.” He said simply. “That is all I need to know.” Arya smiled at him as he nuzzled her cheek, but shook her head. 

“Yes, that is true.” She said, somewhat amused. “But we do need to make decisions. Such as, am I Arya Stark?” She cut him off when he opened his mouth, his brows creased in confusion. “Arya Waters? Arya Baratheon?” The realization dawned across his face and she could see him bite the inside of his cheek. “Or are you Gendry Stark?” She teased him. He barked a laugh. 

“I like that one.” He said, nudging her shoulder with his own for a moment with a small smile, before frowning. “But none of them sound _right_.” Arya bit her lip in thought. 

“In the Northern histories, it’s said that the Karstarks are the descendants of a younger Stark brother who started a cadet branch of the Starks. We could make our own name, I suppose.” Arya considered. “That Stark was named Karlan, so I suppose it would be Arstark? No, and a variant of your name doesn’t work either, in my opinion.” Gendry wrinkled his nose. 

“Mine either. And I’m not a Baratheon, not really, so we can’t do a variant of that. Plus, Barstark sounds terrible as well - like we spend all of our time in ale halls.” Arya laughed at him, smiling truly, one of the few times that she had since her father had died, most of which had occurred with Gendry by her side. 

“I also wanted to talk about that.” She said, reaching out and bringing his hand into her lap. He frowned.

“About ale halls?” She laughed again, shaking her head at his bullheadedness.

“Gendry Baratheon.” She stated, a dawning look appearing on his face, followed closely by a sheepish one. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, preening internally at the light blush it brought to his cheeks, and continued. “You’re the last child of the Baratheon brothers that we know of Gendry. If you wanted, you could be Lord of Storm’s End. If the Dragon Queen learns who you are, she might insist on it - and that would be preferable to her taking your life.” Gendry frowned. 

“I don’t think she would take my life for something that stupid, Arry.” Arya shrugged. She didn’t know the woman and wouldn’t judge her, but after so many years alone in horrible situations, she couldn’t help but consider the worst. “I don’t know how to be a lord,” he admitted. “I could never use all those forks and knives at the dining tables that Hot Pie used to talk about.” She barked out a laugh.

“You’d be a good one.” She insisted. “My father told my brother once that a good lord needs to know the men who follows him and let them know him, to never ask his men to die for a stranger. You’d be good at that - you’re a good person with a good heart.”

“Do you want to go to Storm’s End?” He asked, putting aside her words for now, no matter how much they touched him. She bit her lip and shook her head. 

“I have to go South eventually. I have to kill Cersei and the Mountain - or maybe I’ll let Sandor kill him, if he survived. But after that? I don’t think I ever want to go South again for too long.”

“Where do you want to go?” He asked her, honestly curious. She bit the inside of her lip in thought and responded slowly. 

“I need to be by my family, for a time, in the North. We’ve been apart for so many years and the pack survives when its together. We all need to remember that.” She shook her head. “After that, I’m not sure. When I was a child, before I went South, I wanted to go beyond the Wall and be a Wildling and I think the Free Folk would be happy to have me for a while. When I was in Bravos, I said I wanted to explore the world, see what was West of Westeros and beyond. Historically, Elisa Farman has gone the farthest - she found three islands she named Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys, but no one's gone further. I’d love to show you Braavos, if I can even return, and Essos. I’d love to see Dorne, if only for a short while - I can’t stay South for long. I don’t know.” She spoke faster and faster as she grew more frantic and unsure. Gendry put his hands on her shoulders and steadied her, grounding her with his weight. She closed her eyes and breathed out. 

“Then we’ll decide after you’ve killed Cersei and returned home. I’ll go wherever you want to. We could travel for a few years and then return to live in Winterfell or Wintertown. We could ask your siblings for a castle of our own to rule, if we really wanted. But I won’t force you South. If Daenerys asks me to take Storm’s End, I’ll refuse. If she forces me to, I’ll immediately abdicate to Davos. I don’t want it or need it, Arry. All I need is you. You’re my family.” She immediately pulled him into a kiss that took his breath away and he moved his lips with hers, pulling her closer, before she forced herself to push him away. They couldn’t restart what they had started before the battle - not yet. There were a few more things to discuss and then people to see. 

“Gendry, I don’t know if I want children.” She said. His eyes bugged out at that out of nowhere comment, before he calmed a moment later. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t even think I can have them.” His eyes turned sad and he let his hands trail over her abdomen, where the grisly, pinkish scars lay. She nodded in response and he leant his forehead on her own and repeated his earlier sentiment. 

“All I need is you, Arya.” He kissed her nose, causing a small smile to curl upon her lips. “If you never want kids, that’s fine. If you want kids but cannot have them, well, there are plenty of orphans out there we could take in. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.” Arya couldn’t help herself, surging forward and bowling Gendry over onto the bench, kissing him with all of her heart. He smiled into the kiss and kissed her back, before pushing her away, reminding her of her own decision moments before. 

“Thank you.” She whispered. He smiled at her, pecking her cheek and nuzzling her hair, before standing up, grabbing her own hand. 

“Your brother’s probably told the others by now.” He said, sad that their moment alone was now gone. She frowned, but he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Whatever else we need to discuss - names and the like - we can do so tonight, after everyone has gone to sleep.” Arya felt an impish smile curl on her face. 

“Should I meet you in the store room again? Or would you rather come to my room? Or me to your own?” He felt a blush crawl up his neck and desperately tried to keep it off his cheeks, but from the grin on her face he had failed in that endeavor. He shook himself, ignoring the red of his face, and responded. 

“Although mine is more public, you’re probably far better at sneaking around than me.” At her look of surprise, he smiled at her softly. Her story was terrible and she deserved better, but it was _her_ story. He wasn’t going to ignore it just because it made his heart hurt. It was who she was and it needed to be acknowledged. She kissed him on the cheek and nodded, pulling him from the room. They walked side by side, hand in hand, her leading him as they crept out of the forge through a different path than his usual. When they finally came to the main courtyard, they finally, painfully, let their hands drop and put a little space between them, but continued walking together. Hopefully, it would seem like two vague acquaintances who had found each other and decided to head back to civilization together. 

“Arya!” Arya and Gendry heard a female voice cried as a red streak came running across the courtyard to bring Arya into a tight hug. “Oh, I should have known. I suspected, really, but I didn’t think - oh, I should have known!” Arya smirked and hugged her sister back.

“Yes, you really should have.” She agreed. “But how were you to know, given the truth that I told Jon?” Sansa pulled back, standing back up to her full height, her beautiful face marred by a confused frown.

“The truth?” She asked, somehow even more confused now. Arya smirked again and nodded. 

“How were you to know that I killed the Night King with my eyes closed?” She heard Gendry take in a sharp breath beside her and wished she could reach out to squeeze his hand, to reassure him, wished she could see his face at the blatant reminder of the story she had told what felt like hours before, but had truly only been minutes. 

“Arya!” Sansa cried, half a question, half an exclamation. She pulled her little sister back into a hug, holding her tightly. She startled at the small laugh that Arya gave - the first that she had heard since they had parted before their father’s death all those years ago. 

“I learned many things when we were apart.” Arya said, shaking her head at her sister’s antics. “You knew that.” Sansa paused and shivered, remembering the faces and Arya’s farcical scare scene for their trick for Littlefinger. 

“I did.” She admitted. “Someday, you’ll have to tell me exactly what and how.” She said carefully. Her sister had been silent on the topic when previously asked but, truthfully, Sansa was dying to know the answer. Arya pulled away from her sister and put her hands behind her back in the now familiar pose, seemingly an ingrained military stance. 

“Someday.” She agreed, to Sansa’s astonishment. Sansa turned to the man beside her sister, struggling to remember him. 

“You’re Jon’s smith, right?” She asked. She saw a flicker on Arya’s face at those words, but ignored it, focusing instead on the surprise on the smith’s own. “Your name was G-“

“Gendry!” Jon’s voice interrupted her own, urgency infused in his tone. “Have you seen - ARYA!” He cried, sprinting towards her from across the courtyard to engulf his little sister in a hug. Arya rolled her eyes, but hugged him back tightly. “Bran said you killed him.” He said quietly into her hair. 

“I did.” She agreed. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He pulled away from her, cupping her cheek with one hand and staring into her eyes. 

“I needed a moment alone to collect myself. I convinced Bran to let me have that.” She said. No need for him to know that she had been telling the truth to him and that he was too blind to see it. He was Her Jon, her beloved bastard, her beloved brother, and, to him, she was still little Arya Underfoot. She wouldn’t tell him what she had done, what she had become, not yet. She would let him have his little Arya back for a while, until she revealed her full self. “I met Gendry on the way back and we agreed to return to the Great Hall together.” Gendry started at his name and forced himself to look awed at her - not hard, really - and surprised - a much harder task. 

“It was you?” He asked. She held back the urge to roll her eyes. But nodded at his words. “Thank you.” He said, honestly and from the heart. A surprised look crossed her face, before she nodded to him, returning to face her brother. 

“How did you do it?” He asked her, putting an arm around her shoulders and ushering her inside to the crowd of celebrating people in the Great Hall who all - presumably - knew of her feat. She smirked at him.

“I stuck him with the pointy end.” Behind her, she head Gendry snort and could almost imagine Sansa’s curling smile. Beside her, Jon laughed whole-heartedly and pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and the mass of people inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll have to wait a little longer for the end of the story - I'm going to be out of the country and unable to post for two weeks starting next Friday. Depending on the number of kudos/comments, you /may/ get the next chapter (outtakes of this one) before I leave. (That being said, please R&R, as we said in the days of fandom yore).


	3. Outtakes - After the Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things that I thought were interesting that happened behind the scenes of Chapter 2. Mainly moments involving Jon. Who, in this, has very few brain cells (as the saying goes). 
> 
> WARNING: Outtake 3 could be read as anti-Daenerys or Daenerys cautious. Up to you, honestly.

OUTTAKE #1 - Davos and Jon chat

Arya had been lost in the crowd of people when Yohn Royce had called Jon and Sansa over to him. After going over the basics, Jon left Sansa and Yohn Royce to direct people to either head to the Great Hall or begin cleaning up the bodies of their fallen, while he went searching for his little sister. He could only thank the Old Gods that she had survived - they had been separated for so long and if she had been taken from him now, now that they were finally together again as a pack, he did not know that he could have borne it. He searched the crowds mingling in the courtyard, people crying and hugging loved ones and friends, others carrying bodies, others still heading into the hall for treatment and food. He saw the Hound carrying the body of Beric Dondarion out of the building and he nodded to the man, who grimaced back at him. 

"Jon!" Jon snapped around and let out a breathless laugh and clasped Davos in a hug. They stepped back a moment later, taking stock of each other's injuries. "You seem to have come out of an impossible task well enough." Davos said, laughing. Jon gave a strained smile. 

"I didn't do it." He admitted. "Bran won't tell us who did, just swears that he is dead." Davos frowned, a furrow forming in his brow as he thought, considering who might have done it. 

"Well, someone must have done it. The bugger didn't very well just off himself." Jon barked a laugh, nodding wearily. 

"I need to know who did it, but, right now, I'm just too happy that it's over and my family is safe." Jon admitted. Davos nodded, looking around. 

"Have you seen Gendry?" He asked, his face lined with worry. Jon clasped his shoulder in solidarity, but just shook his head. Davos sighed. "The lad will be fine, I'm sure. He's probably just checking on his forge." Davos shook his head and turned back to Jon. "You said your family was safe?" Jon nodded, feeling a grin spread across his face despite the exhaustion that rolled through him. 

"Arya was with Bran before I even got there." He admitted, causing Davos to have a strange look on his face. Jon dismissed it, continuing with his words. "Bran told us that the dead had been raised in the crypt as well, but, thank the Gods, Sansa was safe. She must have been so scared." Jon paused for a moment, before frowning. "I thought I had told Arya to go into the crypts with Sansa." Davos looked at him through narrowed eyes. 

"Your sister was a demon with that staff of hers." He said, his voice edged with something that Jon couldn't identify. Jon paused. His sister - 

"Sansa?!" He asked. Since when had Sansa started training with anything? He supposed a staff would be what she trained with - it might have seemed a more lady-like weapon than a sword -, but who had trained her? And a demon? Sansa? Davos' face did something funny that Jon couldn't understand.

"No." He said slowly. "The younger one. Arya." Jon's mind went fuzzy between his ears. Arya? Little Arya Underfoot? A demon? She had always wanted to learn how to use a sword, but a demon? Davos couldn't be right - she was just a little girl. She couldn't be a master with a sword, let alone something like a staff. Where would she even learn how to use a staff? Arya was just a little girl, just his little sister, and he could believe that she had talked someone into training her, but _a demon?_

"Arya?" He asked, his voice sounding faint to his own ears. Davos just nodded slowly, watching Jon carefully. In the distance, Jon could almost hear Ygritte laughing at him. _You know nothing, Jon Snow._ Her voice echoed in his head. He sunk to the floor and shook his head, ignoring Davos' hand on his shoulder. Little Arya? His Arya? A demon? He quickly stood up a moment later, frantically searching the courtyard with his eyes. He needed to see Arya. He needed to speak to her. He needed to make sure she was alright - she had seemed like it before, but now that he knew she was _fighting_. He ignored the laughter of Ygritte in his mind, focusing himself on the task at hand. He needed to make sure little Arya Underfoot was safe. His father - Ned Stark, he meant - would never forgive him if she wasn't. 

* * *

OUTTAKE #2 - Bran reveals the Truth

"Sansa!" Jon called to her from across the courtyard. She turned, her grip on Bran's chair tight with worry. Had something happened? Please, dear Gods, New or Old, let everyone be alright, let everything be blessedly _sane_ for just a while more. He skidded to a stop before them, his eyes wide with worry, which didn't help the quick beating of her heart. "Have you seen Arya?" Her heart stopped for a moment, before restarting at a more sedate pace and her brow furrowed. 

"She was with us earlier. Why are you so worried?” Jon's eyes didn't lose their panic. Obviously, someone had said something that made him worry but Sansa trusted Arya. She would remain calm a while longer. 

"She was fighting!" He said in explanation. Sansa rolled her eyes. Oh, this. Honestly, Jon should have known better.

"Yes, I know." She said patiently. She knew he would need to work through this on his own, but honestly, he had been the one who had encouraged Arya to learn to fight all of those years ago. He had been her favorite and closest sibling - did he really think she wouldn't follow through with it?

" _Our_ Arya." He emphasized, ringing his hands in worry. "Our _little_ sister." Sansa rolled her eyes again and waved his worry away.

"Yes. Our Arya. She's perfectly capable." She said loftily. Jon's eyes grew wider as he stared at Sansa. 

"You knew about this? You knew she'd be out there, fighting the dead?" His tone went from worried to almost angry and his worried eyes almost started to glare at her.

"Where else would she be? Down with those who couldn't fight in the crypt? She is able and certainly willing to fight, Jon. You simply haven't opened your eyes to see it. She's trained since we last saw her - I don't know how or when. To be entirely honest, she's been quite close-lipped on the subject. But she tied with Brienne when she was trying her hardest. That's how Lord Baelish first became worried about her - he saw her skill."

"She what?" He asked, his eyes wide, his breath hitched. Then, the last sentence that Sansa said got through his skull. "What did Littlefinger do?" He growled. Sansa sighed.

"You did something to provoke him, didn't you?" She asked, too tired to scold. He looked sheepish as he shifted from foot to foot. "Well, that explains it. Littlefinger tried to pit us against each other, turn sister against sister as he did with my mother and my Aunt Lysa." Jon's face grew red at the thought. "Luckily, we were both far smarter than him and realized what he was doing. I made it seem like I was putting Arya on trial in order to get him there for his trial. We judged him together and then Arya executed him." 

"Arya..." His voice was weak and his eyes wide. "She executed him? She killed someone?" 

"She's killed many people. Her first was the day she escaped from the Red Keep." Bran said, his voice flat, finally reminding them that he was there. Sansa's eyes softened, even as her hand leapt to her heart. 

"Arya was only 11." Jon argued. Bran tilted his head. 

"He was a stablehand who wanted to turn her over to Cersei. He was no older than 15 himself." Jon felt his mind stumble over those words, refusing to understand. His Arya had... He turned, looking around the courtyard again, the same desperate need to find her and make sure she was okay overtaking him. 

"Calm down, Jon. I trust Arya is completely fine." Sansa said, glancing to Bran. Bran nodded.

"Fine and content." He said. Sansa's brow creased in curiosity, while Jon let out a breath of relief. 

"How could you let her kill someone Sansa? She's just a child." Sansa stared at Jon in bewilderment.

"She's 18, Jon. She's older than you were when you left for the Night's Watch." His face slackened, as if he hadn't realized the fact. Sansa's heart ached for him, but he needed to realize the truth. "And she hasn't been a child since the day our father was killed."

"She saw you on the stage." Bran said. Sansa whipped around to face him, her eyes wide. 

"She was there? She saw?" Sansa breathed. Jon was tight with anxiety, pacing before the siblings, and Bran's words did nothing to alleviate his tension.

"She had climbed up the statue of Baelor the Blessed when they brought father out. He saw her and told a Black Brother, Yoren." Jon paused. "Yoren ensured she didn't see anything, though he couldn't stop her from hearing it, nor seeing the birds fly off when Ice fell." Sansa had to steady herself on Bran's chair, refusing to let herself grow faint at the memory of her father's execution. "Yoren took her from Kong’s Landing and snuck her out with the recruits for the Night's Watch." 

"Yoren never returned from his recruiting mission South." Jon said slowly. Bran nodded. 

"He died keeping them safe." Was his only response. Jon covered his mouth with his hand, trying to comprehend the information he had been told. "You needn't worry, Jon. Arya is fine. She was trained by the best: father, Syrio Forel, Tywin Lannister, Beric Dondarion and the Brotherhood without Banners, Sandor Clegane, No One, Lady Crane. She learned justice and swordplay, strategy and diplomacy, what the world is and how the world works, how to be No One and anyone." Jon and Sansa remained silent and confused at his words, growing only more so as he repeated what sounded like a mantra.

"Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords." He looked them both in the eye, one side of his mouth quirking in almost a smile. "All qualities she needed to kill the Night King and bring the morn." Sansa and Jon paused, eyes widening. Jon gripped the pommel of his sword, while Sansa grabbed his arm in another attempt to stabilize herself. 

"What?" Jon croaked.

* * *

OUTTAKE #3 - Arya enters the hall

Jon pulled Arya into the Winterfell's great hall, Sansa behind them and Gendry behind her, trying to make himself as small as possible. As soon as they all crossed the threshold, the room plunged into silence, Northerners, Free Folk, Knights of the Vale, and those of Daenerys's army alike turning to face them. Some were nursing bowls of soup or mugs of ale in their hands, others were being treated by others still for injuries. Gendry quickly slipped away into the crowd, settling by the Hound, who gave him a scrutinous look, before nudging another mug of ale into his hands, which Gendry took gratefully. At the front of the hall, stood Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen, her advisors - Missandei, Grey Worm, Tyrion, and Varys - surrounding her. Ser Davos, Jon's Free Folk friend Tormund, and Bran stood there too, watching the entering group intently. As Jon led Arya forward, she tensed at the intense scrutiny from the entire crowd, years of training teaching her that the attention was the last thing she needed or wanted. Finally, they came to near the front of the room, the room still silent. Arya watched as Jon and Daenerys shared a look with an emotion too complicated for her to name - there were tinges of love, obsession, anger, and regret that she simply could not understand, so she pushed it away for now. Arya turned her focus to Bran who stared at her emotionlessly. She begged him with her eyes to let it be, to leave her to join Gendry and Sandor and get away from the strange tension in the room. One side of his mouth crooked upward in almost a smile, though no real emotion passed through his eyes. He grabbed Davos' mug of ale and held it up to the tense, silent room. 

"Arya Stark, Dark Wolf, Underfoot, She-Wolf of Winterfell, Daughter of Frost, Nighthunter, Azor Ahai, Kingslayer, Savior of the Seven Kingdoms, the Princess that was Promised, Bringer of Light, the Queen of Dawn." He stared into her eyes as he said every word and she could feel herself shrinking as she heard the titles and the stares on her back increased. She kept her back straight and her face emotionless, even as she battled every urge to run and hide. The room was silent for a while, before Jon's friend Tormund raised his horn of whatever and yelled "Arya Fucking Stark!" Which started a chorus of toasts across the room. Arya's muscles tightened and she froze as Jon, Sansa, Davos, and (presumably) the rest of the room joined in, proclaiming her the Queen of Dawn and Savior of the Seven Kingdoms. She did not look at the rest of the room, did not look to see her husband's reaction. She was frozen staring at the too pale face of the Targaryen Queen, her eyes alight with an annoyance that Arya could not help but worry about. She felt Jon's hand clasp her shoulder tightly, but those purple eyes of the Dragon Queen were all she could see.

  
  
  



	4. A Banquet of Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And what you've all been waiting for - the banquet. Only one chapter left folks - the outtakes. /Please/ share and bookmark or comment - I thrive on your words. 
> 
> I have a few other GoT ideas that AlexTirZeng can agree are pretty awesome and I have about 90 other fics that I'm working on - ranging from Merlin to HP to Bones to crossovers (so many crossovers). And it's hard to get the drive to work on them, let alone the chutzpah to put them up, and your reviews help so much!

"I'm not going, Gendry." Arya stated from where she sat by his forge. The forge was mostly empty at this time of day, especially as all of the surviving smiths were washing up to go to the feast, open to everyone by order of the Lady of Winterfell. This had allowed Arya to sneak in and sit by Gendry's forge - one of her favorite spots since they had first met. Whenever she could since they had married, she had snuck down to sit by his forge and, slowly, she could feel the heat of the forge burning away the pain of the years apart, melting the icy barrier she had made around her younger self, and she could begin to feel parts of Arya Underfoot peeking through. Still, she refused to go to the feast - it was partially in her honor and she could not stand the eyes on her, especially when she didn't have Gendry by her side.

"Arya, they want to see you." Gendry gently reminded her, hammering away at some of the steel they had salvaged from the dead and were forging into weapons for the next war. "They need to see you - you've become the embodiment of the victory and they need the reminder of that victory now. They need to know that the Night King is well and truly gone, and for that they need to see the Queen of Dawn." Arya screwed up her face in disgust at the name. Gendry barked out a laugh at the expression and let his hammer drop, reaching out with one hand to caress her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned into it. "They love you, Arya, for being a warrior, the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Go to the feast. Show them who you truly are now, Dark Wolf." He kissed her on her forehead and leaned back, looking at her in askance. She kept her eyes closed for a minute more, before she sighed.

"Only if you go as well." She said, reaching out to hold his hand. "You and Sandor are the only two who will treat me normally and I need you." He smiled at her and kissed her hand.

"Of course, m'lady." Smiling, she shoved him away, standing up and brushing the soot off her tunic. She frowned at her outfit and sighed.

"I should change, shouldn't I?" She asked. Gendry gave her a rueful smile and she groaned.

"You don't need to wear a dress or anything, Arry. You're beautiful as you are - I would be happy if you went like this. But Lady Sansa might have a heart attack if she saw you like this at your feast."

"Not my feast." Arya grumbled, heading towards the door. Gendry reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her in for a long kiss, before releasing her and just putting his forehead on her own.

"Be you." He whispered to her. She smiled softly at him and pecked his lips, before twirling away and going out the door. "I better see you there, m'lady." He called, walking to the door and leaning against it as he watched her walk across the near-empty courtyard. She turned, raising an eyebrow at him.

"You as well."She said, a cheeky grin on her face, as she turned, returning to walking towards her room to change. He ignored the looks from the few people still out and headed back in to quickly close the forge, before heading to his own room for a quick wash to rinse away what soot he could and to change into a clean tunic. He ruffled his shorn hair ruefully as he dried himself off. He had had to shear it off to keep himself from being too noticeable to Cersei, but he missed what it had been and he waited anxiously for it to grow back out. Arya did too, he knew. He had seen her giving his head odd, annoyed looks every once in a while, but he had, very nicely in his opinion, not brought it up. He sighed, before heading out to the hall, where people had already started to gather.

The whole room was quiet and, somehow, Gendry knew this wasn't normal for a Northern feast, but thought it better to wait for Arya to agree with his theory. He sat with the other blacksmiths, listening as they quietly swapped tales of daring survival during the Long Night, remaining silent and watching for Arya. She had yet to show up and he saw her brother - Lord Jon - that is, give Lady Sansa a worried look, but she just looked annoyed and resigned. Daenerys seemed almost happy for Arya's missing presence, but Gendry supposed that might have also been having Lord Jon alive at her side. He knew they had... connected on the ship - Clegane had heard and told him in detail he would never tell Arya, though he had probably just done so for the pleasure of seeing Gendry's disgusted face. Gendry knew he would be just as happy as Queen Daenerys- happier even - if he had Arya here by his side. He finally stood, leaving the blacksmiths to go sit with Clegane. Clegane gave him an assessing look, before grunting and shoving a flagon of ale at him. Gendry nodded to him, grabbing the flagon to sip, and watched as Clegane returned to consuming a whole chicken savagely. He sipped the ale, enjoying the silence, but soon he became antsy at the continuous lack of his wife. He set down the flagon and turned away from Clegane, to inspect the rest of the room. He soaked in the quiet chatting, simultaneously calmed by it and annoyed by it as, as soothing as the light chatter was, it meant his wife certainly hadn't arrived yet. He sighed, turning back to Sandor, who was attacking a chicken leg ferociously.

"Have you seen Arya?" He asked, mentally preparing himself for the customary onslaught of teasing that the Hound would inflict. Clegane looked up, refusing to put down the chicken leg, and raised an eyebrow.

"You can still smell the burning bodies and that's where your head is at?" He asked, his rumbling voice holding a tinge of humor. Gendry scowled at him.

"I just want to thank her." He said at the same noise level as the others, before leaning over the table to Clegane. "She swore she would be here and I had to beg her to come. I'm worried. Plus, what will her siblings think if she doesn't make an appearance?" He heatedly whispered to the man. The man's mouth twitched in thought as he picked a piece of chicken off the leg and popped it in his mouth.

"Sure you do." He said in his regular voice, before whispering back. "The little wolf bitch will be here, lad. She cares for her siblings and for you. She probably wouldn't have come if you hadn't extracted a promise from her, but she swore. She may be cold, but the wolf bitch believes in honoring her promises."

"Look, it's not about that." Gendry argued at room level, but nodded to Clegane, gratitude plain on his face. Sandor raised an eyebrow but nodded back.

"Course it's about that. Why shouldn't it be, you twat? They're dead. You're not." Clegane grunted, tearing a piece of chicken off the leg. He chewed it thoughtfully, before whispering to Gendry. "If you're so worried, go find her. I'll hold some ale for you both. But, I tell you, you're just being, what did she call you? Ah, a stupid bull." Gendry held back a blush at the words, but a part of his tension bled away at Clegane’s permission to go search for Arya. He stood, nodding to the Hound, who pulled Gendry's flagon and a full one towards him, raised an eyebrow at Gendry, and took a pointed bite of his chicken. Gendry shuffled out from the bench, beginning to maneuver towards the door near the front of the room. The back of the room, while better for sneaking out, was too far away and he was worried he would make an even bigger mess of himself if he went that way. He had reached the end of the tables and began walking towards the door, home free, when -

"Gendry." He heard the Dragon Queen say and he couldn't help but close his eyes and wince. The already quiet room immediately descended into silence."That's right, isn't it?" She asked. Gendry opened his eyes and turned towards her, forcing a neutral look on his face and forcing back the pained grimace.

"Yes, your Grace." He said. His mind whirled as he tried to think why she would be singling him out. He was nobody and no one to her knowledge - just a bastard blacksmith who her lover had taken in. Why would she give two shits about him? She inspected him, head cocked to the side, her silvery hair shining in the firelight, her face blank.

"You're Robert Baratheon's son." She stated. Gendry's eyes widened at her words and he forced his heartbeat to remain calm, even as it tried to jump out of his chest as it beat at a hummingbird's pace. He saw Davos give Jon a side-eye and internally cursed. He had trusted Jon with his heritage - he might have said it was because of their fathers' friendship, but it was truly because of Arya's good word for him. It seemed, however, that Jon couldn't keep a secret from his lover. Jon frowned at Davos, though, and shook his head. Well, Gendry amended, if not Jon, then he didn't know who. But he supposedly looked like a young Robert, so it could have been anyone, he guessed. Arya's words from their talk sprung to his mind unbidden. 'If the Dragon Queen learns who you are, she might insist on it - and that would be preferable to her taking your life.' No matter how much he had vehemently disagree with her statement at the time, he couldn't help the shiver that crept up his spine at the piercing looks from the entire room as he stood before all of the remaining living in Winterfell at Queen Daenerys' mercy. He forced his internal panic to calm, but didn't even attempt to hide it from his face as he nodded slowly. "You are aware he took my family's throne and tried to have me murdered." Gendry forced himself to not hyperventilate at his words, Arya's hard face as he tried to reassure her of the Queen's benevolence sticking in his mind. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat, his nervous eyes darting between Davos, Jon, and his wife's other siblings, wishing he could turn to Clegane for support - he may not know the man very well personally, but his wife obviously trusted him now and the man certainly liked his wife.

"I didn't even know he was my father until after he was dead, your Grace." He havered, trying to appease the Queen while telling the truth. She stared at him, her purple eyes a little unnerving, as they gave nothing away.He wished Arya were by his side, her hand on her Needle as she prepared to protect him, but she still wasn't here. Where was she?

"He's dead." She deadpanned, still staring at him unnervingly. "His brothers are too." She turned to gaze at Tyrion for a moment - was he the one who told her? - before returning to him. "So who's Lord of Storm's End now?" Arya's worries reverberated in his head and he gulped in fear.

"I don't know, your Grace." He replied honestly. Please, he thought, don’t kill me for not knowing. Don’t kill me for something that stupid.

“Does anyone?” Daenerys asked, looking at Tyrion and Varys out of the corner of her eye. They looked at each other, minorly worried, not nearly as worried as Jon or Davos looked, not nearly as worried as Gendry felt. Gendry heard whispers in the room behind him and wished that it was because Arya had arrived or even because Clegane had stood, but knew that that was not it, knew it wasn’t time yet, if that was going to happen at all. He could feel the eyes of all the people and could almost feel the sweat beading on his brow.Please, for the love of the Old Gods and New, don't do - “I think you should be the Lord of Storm’s End.” She announced to the hall. Gendry closes his eyes in pain. That. He finished his thought. Why did you have to do that? His mind worked furiously as he tried to figure out how to play this. Arya didn’t want their marriage known yet - or she hadn’t a few hours before, but maybe...

“I can’t,” he forcefully stuttered. “I’m a bastard.” She raised an eyebrow imperiously at him and he had to bite back a curse and growl.

“No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End, the lawful son of Robert Baratheon, because that is what I made you.” His stomach curdled a bit at her words, at the thought that a highborn could simply make someone’s life worthy with the right words. He shoved aside the long held ache, focusing on the present. He glanced at the confused Davos and then quickly at Jon and then back to Davos. Davos started to stand, but he shook his head at him. He licked his lips as he tried to come up with the words he needed to say, the right words.

“You Grace, I am thankful.” He said, slowly, carefully. “But I cannot.” The Queen watched him, her eyes narrowed.

“You could have everything you could ever want.” She said. “Why would you ever give that up?” He closed his eyes and forced his back to straighten so he stood at his full height. When he opened his eyes, he looked the Dragon Queen straight in her eyes.

“See that’s the thing, your Grace.” He said, the hall silent, everyone able to hear. “If I were to take your offer, I would lose everything I ever wanted.” Silence resounded.

“What do you have now that you couldn’t have there?” She asked, a puzzled look on her face. He flushed, knowing that there was no way around it.

“My wife, for one.” He said quietly, but the words reverberated around the suddenly even quiet hall. He gulped in fear at the attention. Now, he understood why Arya hadn’t wanted to come.

“Your wife?” Jon asked, confused.

“Lad, when’d you get married? In Fleabottom, you said there was no one.” Davos asked, frowning. Gendry could feel his flush darkening as he looked down at his feet, taking deep breaths. As much as he wanted Clegane’s presence behind him - and when had his presence become so involved with safety? - he knew the man would just tell them everything now and, as much as that would solve everything, that was not what he needed now. He needed Arya by his side when he did that.

“I didn’t then.” He said. “I hadn’t seen her for years - we only reunited recently. It was spur of the moment, but we’ve talked and we’re both happy with it.” Jon and Davos shared a strange, confused look.

“I don’t remember seeing a wedding.” Tyrion said, trying to keep to the task at hand.

“It was a Northern ceremony, my lord.” He said stiltedly. Sansa now frowned.

“Before the Heart Tree.” She said. He nodded. “Was that for her heritage or sake of ease?” She asked. He shrugged, feeling a little hot under the collar at all the eyes on him.

“Both. I don’t hold to the Seven, not really, so I didn’t care.” Sansa nodded, thinking.

“I still do not understand why this would preclude you from becoming Lord of Storm’s End.” Daenerys interrupted. Jon frowned at her, wanting to get to the bottom of the marriage. Gendry sighed.

“Your Grace, my wife has no plans to stay South for any significant period of time. She, along with many other Northerners, are sick of it. I would never force her to do something she did not want to.” Daenerys’ face soured at her words and Sansa’s thoughtful face deepened. Tyrion cut in quickly, before anything could start.

“Is there anything else we could do for you, then? You equipped the forces of the living against the dead. Surely, that deserves a reward. You wouldn’t like your father’s name to give her?” He asked. Gendry fought the urge to make a face.

“Neither she nor I want anything to do with my father’s name. He was not a good king, nor the best man. We’re happy as we are.” He insisted. Tyrion’s face did something funny at his words.

“Lad, you still didn’t answer me.” Davos said, rising. “When’d you get married?” Gendry gulped at his gaze and turned his head to Jon, who was gazing at him just as deeply. He looked at Bran, who watched him emotionlessly.

“During the Long Night.” Bran said. The entire room turned to him and Gendry breathed a little easier for a moment, as the eye were off of him. “They battled together before the Heart Tree alongside the Hound, Theon, Lady Karstark, and the Ironborn. When he asked, she asked if it was really the best time. He said it might be the only time and said that she was beautiful and he loved her. That he had made his choice and she needed to make hers.” The room was silent as Bran emotionlessly recounted a moment that Gendry held so dear. “She asked the Hound to marry them.” The hall turned to look at Clegane and Gendry was glad to finally have the excuse. Clegane looked at him pointedly and tore of a bite of his chicken. Well, if that didn’t tell him he was on his own, he didn’t know what would.

“That’s a little fast, lad, isn’t it?” Davos asked, breaking the silence. Gendry shrugged.

“We grew up together. We know each other. And we’ve talked about it since then, freely and openly. We’re happy.” He tried to get the point across, tried to get them to finally, finally, leave it be. Davos still frowned at him, but Jon stood and made his way out from behind the table. He clapped him on his shoulder and smiled.

“Then we are happy for you, of course.” He said, ignoring the glowering look of the Dragon Queen behind him. “Who is the lucky lady who has so thoroughly stolen your heart, then?” He asked. Gendry froze, his heart beating wildly. He wasn’t ready for this, he couldn’t tell him, Jon would kill him. Fuck, he needed - He could hear the main doors behind him open quietly and shut. As a whole, the room turned to see who had entered or exited and he almost collapsed in relief and awe at the sight of her.

She was in a grey tunic and brown pants - still her - but it was clean and she had a belt cinched around her waist and a jacket that, together with the tunic, seemed to make the outfit more appropriate for a feast and more feminine. Over the pants, she had a skirt - a skirt! - that came above her knees in the front but was longer in the back and seemed to be not at all Westerosi. Gendry guessed that she had picked it up in Essos and he loved it for the fact that she could still be her while she wore it. Her hair was still partially in a bun at the top of her head, but she had braided the rest of it and tucked a blue rose behind her ear. She still wore Needle and her knife - she hadn’t named it yet, to his knowledge - and she still looked like her. She stood, frozen, as everyone stared at her. Gendry smiled softly at her and her eyes seemed to focus on him and she relaxed somewhat. Then, it turned to Jon and she began pulling on her jacket, seemingly self-conscious.

“What?” She snapped at the room, her face almost blank. Most of the room seemed to jump at her tone. Gendry heard a chair being pushed back and saw Sansa rising, opening her mouth to speak.

“Little wolf.” Sandor called out to her before Sansa could speak. She turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He tore off another piece of chicken with his teeth, before gesturing with the chicken towards Gendry. Gendry felt his heart sink and he closed his eyes and stepped away from Jon in preparation.

“Your smith needs your help.” He said. Arya grew a little paler in realization at what was happening, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “Still don’t know why you married the cunt.” The room plummeted into silence once more and Gendry stepped back from Jon again and again and again as he saw his fists tighten. Finally, he bumped into something solid and he slowly looked up to see Tormund’s face frowning down at him. Arya sighed.

“Really, Sandor?” She said, her voice pained as she looked at the front of the room where her family - her whole family - stood frozen, her eyes flickering to gauge the distance of the room between them.

“Needed to be said.” Clegane said, pointing a chicken bone at her. “He’s been tiptoeing around it. It’d get said eventually.” As Clegane’s words ended, Arya sighed again, before looking back to the distance in front of her and starting to pass between the benches of the crowded tables as quickly as possible. Jon turned slowly to Gendry, who tried to slip away, but Tormund put a hand on his shoulder.

“Gendry?” He growled. Gendry held back a flinch and stood tall, even as Jon started stalking towards him. In a blur of grey and brown, Arya materialized between the two, her hand on Needle.

“Jon, stop.” She said seriously, her voice echoing in the silent, watching room.

“But Arya - “ Arya glared at him, interrupting his words.

“He is my husband, Jon. I’m the only one who can hurt him.” She glanced over her shoulder at him and he smiled at her softly. She softened a bit as well, reaching back to grab his hand. She turned back to Jon. “He’s my husband.” She repeated quietly. A pained look grew on Jon’s face.

“When did you even meet?” He asked.

“I’d be curious about that as well.” Sansa said, walking around the table to join them. Arya pulled Gendry by his hand to stand by her side.

“We escaped from King’s Landing together.” Arya said, chin raised in defiance. “We ran from Goldcloaks, went through hell at Harrenhal, wandered the Riverlands, were held by the Brotherhood without Banners, all together. The Red Witch took him away from me and lead him to Davos.” She nodded to the older man, who was standing, a hand covering his mouth.

“Lad…” Davos said in a low voice. Gendry flinched at the disapproving tone, but stood firm with Arya.

“She’s my wife. I love her as she is and I will never force her to be anything else.” He asserted, turning to Jon and Sansa midway through his words. Sansa pursed her lips, but nodded slowly. Jon, however, made a constipated face.

“You’re too young, you can’t know any better!” He said, his fists clenched by his side.

“You have no idea what I’ve seen, what I know.” Arya snapped at him. “Bran only gave you a glimpse of what I’ve seen when he announced my titles. How do you think you know me? Were you there?”

“He told us how you saw Father’s execution.” Sansa said. “How you escaped King’s Landing.” Arya snorted.

“Did he tell you that my water dancing teacher was the only reason I escaped? That he told me to run while he fought off Meryn Trant and three other guards at once with a fucking wooden sword? Did he tell you how I killed that stable boy?” At their faces, she continued. “Oh, he did tell you that. Did he tell you how my sword went through his stomach like butter, how the training Syrio had given me went out of my head and all I could hear was ‘stick them with the pointy end?’ Did he tell you how I lived on the streets for weeks, lying in wait to kill a pigeon with Needle, learning how to barter with the bakers and cooks for a few coopers or even a meal in exchange for a pigeon? Did he tell you how, more often than not, the meal or money wouldn’t come?” She was getting worked up, Gendry could see that, and he pulled her back down to Earth with his hand in her own, squeezing it tightly. She breathed through her nose. “Did he tell you about being packed into pens like animals, hearing them pick out the women to rape in front of us all, seeing the depravity? Did he tell you about lying curled up in the mud, waiting for the Mountain and his men to choose which person to torture next, having to have Gendry be chosen, only for Tywin fucking Lannister to appear and save us? Did he tell you about friendship and relying on each other and having no one else?” She held back the emotions that threatened to reveal themselves and stood tall. “I am more than I was, Jon. I have been to hell and back and I have survived and grown stronger and learned how to live. I am Arya Stormstark and I am proud of my family, be it Gendry, Sansa, or you.” She looked into Jon’s pained eyes, and reached out with a hand. “I am happy, Jon.” Jon let out a slow breath and shook his head.

“You may be happy now, Arya.” He said quietly. “But will you be forever?” She squeezed Gendry’s hands as he tensed.

“I will be as long as I have my family on my side and Needle by my side.” She said firmly. He nodded slowly, before walking away and returning to the main table. Arya had a sad, pained look on her face and Gendry bumped her shoulder with his own in an attempt to cheer her up. Sansa walked forward and hugged them both, together.

“I don’t understand it yet.” She whispered to them, conscious of their audience. “But I am happy for you both.” Arya smiled softly at her and kissed her cheek, earning another squeeze, before she returned to the table. The Dragon Queen looked at them both with scrutiny, while Varys looked pale as he stared at the two of them side by side.

“You knew my father?” Jaime asked quietly from the crowd of people in the hall. Arya’s face set into a mask, while Gendry nodded.

“Arry was his cupbearer.” He said, nudging her again. She rolled her eyes at him and snuggled into his side. Tyrion let out a barking laugh, while Jaime seemed to be startled.

“We actually had you at one point. Hah.” Tyrion said, snorting into his hand. Arya, frowned for a moment, before forcing her face into a mildly pleasant look.

“What the fuck kind of feast is this?” She asked, her tone bland. Clegane snorted.

“That’s what I’ve been saying all night, little wolf.” He echoed.

“It’s supposed to be for you.” Bran said tonelessly. Arya snorted.

“Me?” She laughed. “I’m no one.” Bran frowned.

“No, you are no longer Faceless.” He said. Arya balked, Gendry immediately surrounding her in a hug, while Daenerys and her Essosi entourage paled.

“Faceless?” Varys asked, paling even further. Jon, Sansa, and Davos looked at each other, confused. Daenerys’ soldier, Grey Worm, looked at Arya.

“Udrizi Valyrio ȳdrā [Do you speak Valyrian]?” Arya nodded.

“Kessa [Yes].” She answered, raising her chin. “I’m better with my Braavosi Bastard Valyrian, but I’m highly proficient in the Valyrian dialect of every Free City and the cities of Slaver’s Bay. I’m proficient in Lhazareen and Summer Tongue, I can understand and speak some Dothraki, and can understand Qartheen.” She raised an eyebrow at the man. “Just in case I ever needed to be sent out.”

“Sent out?” Sansa asked, looking at the pale faces of the Essosi.

“The Faceless Men are feared throughout Essos.” The woman, Missandei, said, her voice shaking. “If you give them a name, somehow, somewhen, that name will be given to their God of Death.” Arya stood tall, Gendry by her side and nodded once.

“Assassins?” Davos asked, his face drawn. He watched Gendry, but saw no hint of shock or terror on his face, only awe at the woman he had married. She must have told him, Davos thought, and at least that settled his mind a little further. Jon shook his head.

“No, you must be wrong. Okay, Arya as a warrior I can believe, but an assassin? That’s not her.” Gendry squeezed Arya’s hand at the words and she squeezed it back in thanks.

“I was Faceless.” She stated. “I was also the Ghost of Harrenhal.” She paused. “I was Arry and Nan and Mercy.” She said. “What does the past matter? All that matters is that we are alive and there is a future to look forward to.” She grabbed Gendry’s hand and led him to where Sandor sat, immediately grabbing their drinks from him. “And Jon,” she said over the silent crowd. “We’ll fight tomorrow. Let’s see if that can get the truth through your too solid head.” She turned to Sandor, put her head on Gendry’s shoulder, and sipped her ale, as the room around her remained silent, still too far in shock.


	5. Outtakes - The 'Real' Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for making you wait so long - I got caught up in stuff TM. But here's the last outtake - I'll try to have a few more Game of Thrones fics (or a Doctor Who one-shot that could turn into a actual fic) out soon.

"Jon!" He heard someone say loudly outside his bedroom door, pounding on it a moment later. "Jon, if you aren't awake yet, I am coming in!" He groaned, turning over to lay face down in his bed, hoping to get away from the noise. The door slammed open and the sheets were unceremoniously yanked from his body. He groaned again. "Up, come on, up, John. You're getting breakfast and then meeting me in the training grounds." He turned over and peered up at the annoyed face looking down at him.  
"Arya?" He mumbled. She sighed and poked him on his bare chest.  
"Yes, you stupid." She frowned at his chest. "The people who stabbed you aren't alive any longer, right?" She asked seriously. He blinked away sleep and his eyes widened as he realized what she was looking at, quickly grabbing the sheets she had thrown away in order to cover his chest.  
"Yes." He said quietly, carefully. She pursed her lips and nodded.  
"Good. I don't really want to add any more names to my list, but I would have." She turned and walked toward the door, before looking back at him. "I am leaving this door open and you are getting up and getting breakfast. I wasn't joking about sparring today - I will prove to you that I am 'grown up.' It's not my fault you had a drinking contest with Tormund." She walked out the door with purpose and Jon groaned, falling back into the bed. "I heard that! GET UP!" She yelled from further down the hallway. He sighed, but stood and started dressing. Reluctantly, he placed Longclaw at his waist and headed down to the hall for some food. The hall was brimming with people - the injured had stayed there overnight and a mixture of breakfast and lunch was being served at the tables. Sansa was holding something like court at the front of the hall, listening to people as they discussed the issues that they would have to deal with to reconstruct Winterfell, Wintertown, and other Northern strongholds and towns after the Army of the Dead had marched through them. Jon headed to the head table and sat beside Sansa, nodding to her as he grabbed some food to scarf down. She nodded back, waiting until the discussion was done before dismissing them for a moment and turning to Jon.  
"You've come down late." He rolled his eyes.  
"I would've come down later if Arya hadn't forced me out of bed." Sansa smirked a little at him.  
"Ah, yes. She's been very concerned about getting the old training area cleaned out for your fight. She's been directing free folk to clear it all morning. I think half of them are probably in love with her by now." Jon growled under his breath, but continued eating.  
"I don't understand why she's so insistent on this." He shared with Sansa. Sansa raised an eyebrow.  
"Do you think she's an adult who can do as she pleases yet?" She asked. He glared at her. "That's exactly why she feels she needs to do this." Sansa grabbed one of his hands, stopping him from eating. "She hasn't shared all that happened with me or you, but the things she did tell us last night terrified me. You're right - she was 11 when you last saw her, 12 when I last saw her. She was so young when she had to go through all of that. But she survived - she's an adult now and a capable fighter. I recognize that. She wants you to as well."  
"Obviously, she's a capable fighter." Jon said, rolling his eyes and starting to eat again. "She killed the Night King, after all. But she's still my little sister." Sansa shook her head, a small smile on her face that was either sad or affectionate, Jon couldn't tell which.  
"She always will be." She said quietly. Jon ignored the pain in his heart at those words, at the inadvertent reminder of the secret Sam had shared with him before the Long Night, but pushed it away. Arya was his little sister and his birth wouldn't change that, he affirmed with himself. He would do this stupid spar that she insisted on and would let her win and, hopefully, that would show her that he knew how amazing she was.  
He shoveled his food into his mouth, absentmindedly listening as Sansa tried to chat with him about rebuilding efforts, but he only nodded, shrugged, and shook his head in response to her words. If Arya wanted a fight, he’d rather it happen sooner rather than later. When he finally finished eating, he pushed his plate away and stood, somewhat surprised when Sansa stood as well a moment later. The hall seemed to have quieted, though there was still a large amount of people in it. As they exited, he felt like every single eye was looking at him, and he thought he heard chairs scraping against the stone floor as people stood to follow. He and Sansa, with a small herd of people following, headed out of the castle, to the old training grounds, where Free Folk were moving away the last of the bodies, while Podrick was badly attempting to do practice drills with both Arya and Sandor watching him with a critical eye.  
“You have potential.” He heard Arya say. “But you don’t put your heart into it. If you never try and learn how to love the fight, then you’ll never reach your potential.” She tried to impress upon a skeptical looking Podrick.  
“She’s right, you cunt.” Jon heard the Hound gruffly say. “You’ve improved since you were Tyrion’s squire, but you’ve a long way to go before you’re a real killer.” Podrick scowled.  
“But I don’t want to be a killer.” He insisted. Arya cocked an eyebrow.  
“Everyone is a killer.” She responded. Jon shook away the sadness at her wisened-sounding statement, coming up to stand by her. She looked over at him, a smirk on her lips. “You took your time.” She said.  
“Well, an annoying little voice woke me up this morning, so I wanted to enjoy what time without it I had.” He teased her. She rolled her eyes, before nodding to Gendry - her husband! - and the Hound and entering the center of the cleared courtyard. Free Folk, Northern, and Essosi alike crowded along the edges of the training grounds, hoping to see the Nighthunter and the White Wolf spar. “You sure you want to do this?” Jon asked her, pulling out Longclaw, while she kept Needle sheathed and stood in an almost military stance. “No one would think badly of you if you didn’t.” She cocked her eyebrow at him again and stepped back once more. He sighed and stepped forward, the ring around the training grounds closing behind him as people crowded in as close as they thought was safe.  
Jon moved first, giving a half-hearted swing of Longclaw towards Arya, who still stood in her military stance, Needle sheathed. Arya leaned to one side, letting it pass her, and raised her eyebrow at Jon. He snorted at her and put a little more effort into his next swing, but still she simply leaned away. He did another and another and another swing, and she continued leaning and letting it pass or simply dancing away. Jon growled in annoyance and finally let his hesitance leave him, coming towards her and swinging with full force. Arya leaned out of the way, unsheathing Needle as she did so, and gave a feral grin. Jon ignored the worry in his stomach and attacked again, only for her to deflect the blade with ease, despite the force with which he had swung. A small smile on her face, she deflected each and every hit he did and, every few hits, would purposefully jab at locations where, Jon knew, he would be dead if she had actually been fighting an enemy. Jon’s annoyance grew, even as he became more impressed. Finally, after what must have been 15 minutes, he forced Arya to the ground with the force of a swing she had caught, Needle dancing out of her hand and falling feet away. Her grin grew and became more feral, as she flipped up, landing in a low stance with her unnamed Valyrian steel dagger unsheathed. Jon raised a brow, impressed, but settled back into a fighting stance again. She ducked under his sword and then he swung below her, causing her to do a flip in the air, landing softly on her feet and falling close toe the floor to jab Jon where he would bleed out in his leg, if she had actually pierced the skin. He tried to hack at her, but she simply flowed like water, avoiding his sword and hitting him with her tiny dagger every time she tried. He growled again and she quirked an eyebrow at him. He was surprised when he was finally able to get the dagger away from her, but at her grin, he grew suspicious whether he had actually gotten her last weapon away from her.  
“Arry!” He heard Gendry yell and turned to catch him tossing a staff to her, unbladed, unlike the one Davos said she used during the long night. She caught it one handed, and executed a flip over Jon, landing soft on her feet and hitting him over his back with the staff. He growled and caught the staff with his sword, but it didn’t break. Instead, his sword was caught in the wood and she smirked at him as she used his caught sword to lead him in a circle, before tossing him to the ground, his sword coming out from the momentum of the movement. He hit the ground heavily, barely moving out of the way before the staff came down where his abdomen would have been. He went low again, trying to hit her legs with Longclaw, but she blocked the move with one sweep that ended with her hitting his shoulder. They kept on this for a while, before she let the staff drop as she ducked under a lunge. She reached out a hand as she leaned away from him and one of Gendry’s hammer/mace creations appeared there as if it had been called by her request. As Jon ducked under an attack by the blunt melee weapon, he saw Gendry’s wide grin, his eyes tracking Arya’s every movement with a tinge of awe and something that Jon could only call hunger. Jon growled in response to the thought and struck out again, only to be blocked by the stem of the unorthodox weapon. Arya jumped up and twirled in the air to avoid Longclaw’s swipe and smirked at Jon when he dropped his jaw at the sight. She moved forward, economically and gracefully, avoiding his swipes more than she took them and finding the weak spots in his movements to exploit. Even with a weapon she obviously didn’t know, she was good. Jon was able to catch the weapon at its handle on a strange angle and get it out of her hands and reach. She growled at him in response, but brightened a moment later.  
“Here, my lady.” Brienne said, tossing her longsword into the arena. It fell to the floor and Jon tried to dive between Arya and it, but she somersaulted under him and grabbed it, coming up in a ready stance, her legs wider than they usually were with Needle, both hands holding the hilt of the sword only a little awkwardly. She was still able to parry and block with surprising ease, however, given that the weapon was a little over half her size and probably weighed a little over half her weight as well. She kept the fancy maneuvering to a minimum, however, focusing more on defense than offense, while still managing to hit Jon every few moves. He tried very, very hard not to growl at her ability, instead focusing on using his skill with a heavy bastard sword to beat her minimal training with a longer and heavier longsword. She was still far too good with the weapon for a young girl, though, Jon thought, before scowling at himself. Finally, he was able to catch the blade near the hilt and twist his own blade just so, so that hers flew out of her hands, landing blade down in the sand a ways from them. Arya’s feral grin never left her face.  
“Sandor!” She cried, dancing away from a blow and holding out a hand. Jon saw the Hound scowl, look down at his axe, before snarling.  
“Fine, wolf bitch.” He tossed it to her and she grabbed the middle of its elongated hilt, twirling it until she was able to grab it with both hands. “Show him what I taught you all those years ago.”  
“I’m not trying to kill him, Sandor.” She snapped back, leaning back as Jon tried swipe at her, hacking at him with the axe in return, sweeping the elongated hilt at Jon’s legs and tripping him up. She allowed him to scramble up and back into his fighting stance while Sandor grumbled, circling him and allowing the end of the axe to trail against the ground, making a swirling pattern in the dirt. She swung the axe over Jon’s head, forcing him to duck, and hit him in the side with the end of the axe, circling the axe over her head to swipe at him again, leaving him ample time to get out of the way. Even so, he only got out of the way just in time, jumping back and meeting the blade of the axe with the blade of his own sword. He grimaced at the force and pushed back, forcing her on the defensive again. They kept at it for a while, before she called, “next,” tossing the axe back to Sandor and grabbing a spear out of the air that a Free Woman had thrown her. She used the wooden shaft of the spear to deflect Jon’s sword, only allowing the flat of the blade to hit the wood, before twirling it around her body and stabbing towards Jon’s abdomen. As he tried to move out of the way, she turned the motion into a slicing one, scratching the armor on his chest lightly. He jumped back a moment too late, cradling a hand towards his chest, and had to duck as she made another swipe towards his head, shearing off a few hairs from his head. He scowled at her and readjusted his grip on his sword, before going back on the offensive. She twirled and stabbed and sliced like a dance and he hacked at her, trying to catch her, but always a moment too late. She didn’t catch him anymore either, though, but she had far more near misses than he. A few minutes later, she tossed the Free Woman back her spear, accepting a sickle that a brave Northern farmer handed her, dashing into and out of the ring before he could get fully caught in the fray. Arya tested the weapon for a minute, twirling it by its stem, before whirling around and slicing right over Jon’s head. He ducked down after the fact, his eyes wide, but he stood back up quickly and attempted to regain his momentum and fight back against her. She grinned as she twirled away from him, ending in a low crouch with the scythe extended behind her. She knew she would not be able to last nearly as long with this weapon, but she tried anyway, using the stem to block another of Jon’s swipes, stabbing out with the chine and letting him get away from her before it hit him. This continued for a while, before he tried a particularly nasty attack that forced her to somersault over Longclaw, leaving her weapon behind and coming up in a crouch.  
“Arya!” Gendry yelled, and slid over two thin short swords, a bit thicker than Needle, with one longer than the other. She picked them up and twirled them in her hands, getting a feeling for the balance, before she sunk down into a low stance, one sword in front of her and the other behind, waiting for Jon to attack her again. When he did, she brought up both swords to cross in front of his in an x, and pushed back, forcing him to lose a step and stumble as he was forced backwards.She swiped with the one in front of her, following it up with a twirl and a jab with the other. When he came at her again, she forced him to go low and then jumped over him, using his surprise to attack with one of her swords, which he blocked, swiftly using the shorter one to break the deadlock. She swiped with both together at him, forcing him to duck, to which he responded by kicking out at her legs, which she jumped over and swiped one of her swords at him, but he was able to get away before she hit him. The fight continued on for a long while, with her swiping at him with the dual swords and performing various acrobatics to either surprise him or dodge. She heard the murmurs of the group around her and grinned, allowing herself to spin the swords in her hands again, enjoying the rush that came from fighting, and, of course, the rush that came from surprising everyone. She could see the annoyance and concentration on Jon’s face and decided to let him have an advantage. She looked him in the eye and grinned as she dropped her swords, settling instead into a comfortable fighting position, tightening the bracers she had put on her arms before the spar and bringing her hands up in fists. He raised his eyebrows, but tightened his grip on Longclaw and attacked. Using the metal bracers, she deflected the hit and twirled to the side, punching him twice in the shoulder and forcing him out of his stance to swipe a leg underneath him. He fell to the ground, but she allowed him time to get back up, using the free moments to circle to another position, and loosening her fists just a little. He came at her again and she grabbed his arm and pulled backwards on it as she twirled around him, letting go only just before he would have been forced to drop his sword. He growled at her and she flashed him a smile. He tried again, but this time she hit him twice in the leg, kicked him in the back, and forced him to stumble towards and past her. She roundhouse kicked him in the side, forcing him to take a deep breath and tighten his grip on his sword. He turned around and came at her again, this time high near her head. She deflected the strike with her right bracer, using the same hand to force the sword downward to her right side, where she was able to maneuver herself so she could tuck his sword arm into the crook of her elbow, twisting it so that he fell to the ground on his back, before her as she pointed Longclaw at his chest. They stopped, breathing heavily, her serene as he looked at her with wide eyes. She nodded to him and pulled Longclaw away, walking towards Gendry and tossing Longclaw to Tormund, who was grinning widely at her. She grabbed Gendry’s hand and pulled them through the crowd to the forge, leaving the stunned crowd behind her and her thoroughly in awe brother still lying on the ground.


End file.
